


Hostility

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Written for my DL server Bingo Card prompt: Hostile Climate. Set in like 1986ish, in what I’m gonna go ahead and say is an AU of some kind, only because I’m not noting like a formal setting (like a certain city) or anything in this thing; this is just Happening and we get to know about it, and the other details are irrelevant for the moment at least.The lads are in the studio, supposed to be recording. But why record when you could just all get really frustrated and overtired and fussy and whine and yell at each other about stuff instead?I mean they probably should just like take naps or something but instead they’re gonna do all this.TW for arguing. A lot of it. Not in that anyone is like throwing any hard hits; no one is actually all that mad; they’re just frustrated as fuck and taking it out on each other. But regardless, if fics where folks do argue in any way is not your jam, then maybe avoid this one.
Relationships: Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Hostility

“Hostile? It is not ‘hostile’; I’ll show you hos-” 

“This is what I mean,” Freddie interrupted. “We may as well all go home, if this is how it’s going to go.” 

“It’s going fine,” Roger continued, running a hand through his already well-mussed hair. “This is fine.” 

“We haven’t actually gotten anything done,” Freddie stressed gently. “All we’ve done is argue, and when they’re productive ones that’s all well and fine, but these-” 

“I did enjoy the one earlier between yourself and Brian,” John piped up. “Hell of a show, all over no more than three measures.” 

“Thank you for the reminder of that, Deaky,” Freddie sighed. “And my apologies to you again, Brian.” 

“No need to apologize; we were both wrong about it anyway,” Brian said. 

“It’s subjective; there isn’t a right or a wrong on it,” Freddie scoffed. “We went over this how many times the last hour, but alright! Let me write it all out again, and I’ll show you how your idea doesn’t work. Again. Because this is what we do now, apparently; we argue over songs and then never actually manage to write and finish them.” 

“Look what you did,” Roger hissed at John, who only shrugged. 

“Not my fault they’re still up in arms over it. Thought they were done with that fight, frankly.” 

“You instigate so much,” Roger muttered. “Why? What are you getting out of this?” 

“Well, we aren’t getting a fucking album out of this apparently,” John set down his bass, and the tension in the room rose another level. “So maybe I want to at least find a way to enjoy the chaos. Is that so wrong?” 

“It’s an asshole thing to do!” Roger shouted. “You’re my friend, and you are trying to make me angry on purpose right now; I just know it.” 

“You were already angry, over what Brian said about your solo,” John said. “I’m just-” 

“Being an absolute fucking pissant; I am fucking aware,” Roger continued, just audible over Freddie and Brian at the piano, arguing over the paper that had the same three measures written on it in at least eight different ways, over and over again. “Will you two lower yourselves? I can’t hear myself talk to Deaky, or think, for that matter!” 

“You shut up, and we wouldn’t have to be so fucking loud!” Brian’s yell echoed in the room. “Freddie was right, this is a hostile fucking work climate, how in the hell are we supposed to get anything done-” 

“I’ll fucking tell you, if you’d listen to me for five min-” Roger started, only to shove away Deaky’s hand as he rose it to interrupt him. “Don’t you start with your objections-” 

“I will, and I’m right, so you ought to listen to me, that’s the least you could do-” John scowled. 

“I love you all, but it’s like being around a headache personified,” Freddie’s shouting joined the mix. “We just need to go home, and try again tomorrow. This isn’t working, and I cannot believe I’m having to convince you of this!” 

Their voices melded as the two separate arguments became one. 

“Oddly harmonic still, isn’t it?” Dom remarked. 

“They do sound lovely,” Jim sighed. “If you ignore the content, that is.” 

They were the only two of the Queen spouses that had decided, perhaps erroneously, they now realized, to tag along for this recording session. Which was why they had volunteered to run out and pick up dinner. Fifteen minutes prior.

Jim checked his watch. “Should we say something? I feel like we should.” 

“We could, but I wonder how long they’ll go if we don’t,” Dom said. “They’ve got to notice we’re standing here in the doorway eventually. They’ll smell the food-” 

“Which is getting cold,” Jim noted. 

Dom nodded. “Nothing saying we can’t eat while we wait them out.” 

It was like a picnic, if picnics took place in recording studios, using equipment crates as tables, with four musicians in each other’s faces screeching rather than birds singing. 

“This could be worse,” Jim said, a note of surprise in his voice. “Good food, not the most uncomfortable place to sit.” 

Dom nodded. “Do you want to place a bet?” 

“How long until they notice us?” 

“That, or maybe how long until they get hungry enough to stop?” she offered. “It’s been hours now, eventually they’ll hear their stomachs and look over.” 

“Can I have mine?” 

They both jumped a foot, expletives half-shouted at John’s voice. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Jim asked. “We didn’t see or hear you; you were just-” 

“Over there, yeah,” John nodded and reached past them to the bag of food, as if this was all the most perfectly normal thing. “Got bored of arguing. Freddie’s right, actually. We aren’t doing any productive fighting, so we may as well call it a night.” 

“Did you say that to them?” Dom asked, looking over to the ongoing argument that hadn’t skipped a beat despite losing someone from it. 

“I was shouting that for a bit, but my throat hurts,” John winced before digging in to his food. 

“So much for making a bet,” Jim said, shaking his head as he watched John settle beside them. “Let me get Freddie, that might break it up.” 

He could feel John and Dom’s eyes on him as he made his way to the piano, where Roger, Brian, and Freddie were still shouting at each other, about what exactly was unclear, as the argument seemed to have mutated into being several arguments on various topics all going at once. 

“Should we maybe get going?” he tried. 

Not so much as a look over at him from any of them. 

“The food’s been here for about...half an hour at least. You could pause this and eat?” 

Brian looked up at that. “Food?” 

He pointed towards the doorway, and Brian trotted off. A small blessing. 

“Food?” Jim tried again. 

It wasn’t a shock when it didn’t work. That would have been extremely good luck, and that didn’t seem to be present in the studio tonight. 

“You two don’t really want to keep this going, do you?” he sighed. “You’re both hungry, and tired, and probably need a break. Come eat, and then we can all go home. You can try again tomorrow; doesn’t that sound better?” 

The argument was back to something about Roger’s solo on one song or another, and as Jim listened, he frowned. 

“Are they arguing about liking it?” he asked to the crowd at the doorway, enjoying their dinner and a show. “Am I really hearing them right?” 

Dom nodded; Brian and John were still busy with their food and seemed to have not heard him. 

“I’m glad you like it, I just think it could be better,” Roger scoffed. “I can’t believe you can’t hear it. You have working ears!” 

“But do you?” Freddie shot back. “It sounds lovely! Why stress yourself out and record it for the eighth time? You’ve captured the magic of it already!” 

“I haven’t though!” Roger whined. “Not completely.” 

Jim threw up his hands. “I don’t know what to do with this. This is the kindest argument I think I’ve ever heard, and I cannot believe it’s going round in circles like this. They’re stuck!” 

Dom laughed. “So we have to unstick them! Or we’ll have to start living here, I think.” 

“Absolutely not,” Jim said. “I will deal with a lot for Freddie, but I am not spending the night here so they can keep doing-” 

He gestured wildly at the still shouting Freddie and Roger. “This!” 

There were ideas. Options. Things he could say. But none of them seemed like they’d make any difference. 

There was, however, something he could do. 

Dom sent him a curious glance as he walked back towards the door to an open folding chair, dropped into it, and sighed. The goal for him was to seem as utterly miserable as possible, and he was putting his heart and soul into the act now (and truthfully, at least part of it wasn’t acting. He really did just want to take Freddie home.) 

He could feel Freddie’s eyes on him a moment later. “Jim? What happened?” 

“It’s fine,” Jim replied. “You keep working.” 

The argument stopped, and it was the quietest the room had been in at least an hour. 

“Well...we aren’t really working, are we?” Roger mumbled. “When did you two get back?” 

“About an hour ago, now,” Dom supplied. “The food is here. Cold, but here, if you two want to-” 

“And here we were, doing what?” Freddie scolded. “What were we even arguing about, wasting our own time and yours?!” 

“A lot of things; I lost track after a bit,” Jim replied, careful to keep his tone a bit sad. The act wasn’t over yet. 

Freddie sighed. “And the whole time, here you are, hungry-” 

“I did eat, actually,” Jim admitted. “We didn’t know how long you were going to take, so we didn’t wait on that.” 

“And tired and upset because all you’re doing is listen to me shout,” Freddie continued on. “Terrible. I feel terrible; we should have been paying more attention.” 

Nods from the other three. 

“Should we just stop, for the night?” Brian suggested. “What did we even get done?” 

“My solo, and...well, would have been those three measures, but we never did actually agree on those,” Roger replied. 

“That’s...really bad,” John said. “Top marks, everyone. Knocked it out of the park this time around.” 

The tension that had held the room hostage was finally abating, and dropped out totally once Freddie dropped gently onto Jim’s lap. 

“I’m sorry. This was...not totally pointless a session, I suppose.” 

“The last hour was fairly pointless,” Brian admitted. “I’ve got a headache now.” 

Roger raised a hand. “Same here.” 

John nodded, and Freddie leaned down so his head could rest on Jim’s shoulder. 

“Should we send you all home?” Dom asked gently, running a hand through Roger’s hair. She giggled as he leaned into her touch. “It’s like children; you all need dinner and a nap and some time away from where you’ve been playing.” 

“We’re not children,” Roger fussed, but there was no venom or energy behind it. She was right, and they all knew it. 

It was a quiet end to the session, except for the occasional yawn as they packed up and headed out. 

“Tomorrow?” Brian asked as they stepped outside. 

“Tomorrow,” Freddie, Roger, and John replied all at once.

“And we’ll actually get something done,” Freddie whispered as he let Jim lead him away while everyone else went off their own ways. 

He could only nod, because he was certain Freddie was right. “I won’t argue that.” 

The playful jab at his shoulder was deserved, and delightful.


End file.
